


how it happens (how you lose him)

by zyei (madeleinekate)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 14:16:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8755795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeleinekate/pseuds/zyei
Summary: A drowsy memory tugs, the drugs and the rest of it all, how maybe for him it had happened but for you it had breathed. The sudden, fumbling touches that would only seem subtle from outer space (you’d taken up residence somewhere around Jupiter. He was low-earth orbit waiting for the flare of reentry.) The stifling morning silence; you, dressing in a hurry, leaving only until you need something else to forget. Making all the wrong promises. Making all the wrong moves.

You pretend this isn’t your intent.

You’re a terrible liar, he says.

Yeah, you say, teeth flashing. I know.





	

Happens. These things, I mean. Just how it is.  


These words pierce. Finally registering.  


Happens?  


Happens.  


A drowsy memory tugs, the drugs and the rest of it all, how maybe for him it had happened but for you it had breathed. The sudden, fumbling touches that would only seem subtle from outer space (you’d taken up residence somewhere around Jupiter. He was low-earth orbit waiting for the flare of reentry.) The stifling morning silence; you, dressing in a hurry, leaving only until you need something else to forget. Making all the wrong promises. Making all the wrong moves.  


You pretend this isn’t your intent.  


You’re a terrible liar, he says.  


Yeah, you say, teeth flashing. I know.  


Hot, trembling touches, bare skin too sensitive, maybe it’s the drugs but maybe it’s something much more dangerous. Maybe you want to stay the morning.  


It’s not your style. You live dangerously. Your work, or method of non-work, requires it. Dealing and stealing and hitting the ceiling, a kind of unabashed mess with charm to kill for. Of course you’ve never been short on women in the city that never sleeps, there’s a lot of time to fill when you live each moment like you’re dying. Collecting a veritable string of encounters like glittering lights to decorate your apartment in the dark. Just wanting to know what it feels like to stand in the sun.  


Too bad you got into crime, you think wryly. You could have made it as one of those maudlin types back in Europe, deadbeat poetry for deadbeat kids. Suddenly, you realize that that’s what you are. You’re a kid who went too far and not far enough, always running and always watching, showing how steady your hand is while wondering when your knees will give way.  


No worries, though. It’s not, like, a thing. Still trying to find a way for you to take this back, you realize.  


You won’t apologize. He touched you back, you think, defiantly. He always touched you back.  


You don’t say anything. Head somewhere near the upper limits of the atmosphere, you think of the smell of smog and the reflection of the neon purple lights that glaze the coffee table below your cold hands, the rising urge to touch his wrist makes you shove your hands beneath the table. Anything to end the trembling. You inhale sharply.  


I could leave the crew, he says. Resolutely, like he isn’t offering, but deciding.  


You shake your head. I don’t need the guys hurting too, you say. It isn’t until afterwards that you realize you admitted this hurt. Your brain always moving faster than your mouth, talking too loudly to hear your thoughts. Predictably.  


This is the only language you share, as actions take precedent, this foreign tongue where speaking is sparse. Doesn’t matter how goddam good the words sound here; actions pull the trigger. Words are necessity: where is he? How long until we’re there? Are you hit?  


Beyond that? Radio silence. Easier not to talk when talking means figuring out what to say.  


You were wordy before, always a talker, a natural communicator with a genuine interest in people. You were a reader, once upon a time. You were a lot of things before you hollowed out. How did you end up here?  


I guess, he says. I won’t rule anything out too quickly, he adds, shrugging.  


A scream tries to claw its way through your throat. Fighting it down, you say, It really won’t be an issue.  


Useless words, you think in disgust. Had there really been a time you’d loved them? Had there been a time you’d loved anything?  


Yes, you think, surveying the tanned, tense hands on the table top in front of you. You think there had been.

**Author's Note:**

> okay, first fic up! i love this pairing so much it makes my heart feel funny. i've got a tumblr over @zyei if any of you guys do the blog thing!


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